Grace of Fire and Fangs
by DesperateHour
Summary: She was loyal, but to whom was unknown. Her name spoke from the North, her heart to the Lions of the Westerlands. Finley Stark was cunning and quiet, with a rage that burned in her eyes. She was lost under the alias of Aralyn Snow, and caught in the shadow of Roose Bolton. Little did she know, she was the missing piece in a very dangerous game.
1. prologue - dread

_Kings Landing_

I blinked into the flickering candle light, my ears searching the silence for any stirring guards outside the chamber door. Realizing the useless lumps were most likely unconscious on the floor, licker burning through their veins, I relaxed. My eyes fluttered closed, and I guided the quill towards the ink jar. My breathing was shallow, and the shadows cast by the candle were dancing across the brick, frightening me with every sudden leap. I let the quill swim in the jar for a moment, before drawing it back towards the parchment.

I hesitated.

I found myself staring at the blank page, the emptiness swirling in sight. I had so much to write, so many thoughts to recount, but none were clearly put. I didn't know how to do it, or if I wanted to do it at all. Maybe these thoughts, these questions and suggestions shouldn't be said at all. Maybe they should stay in the chaotic darkness of my mind, where they can rot and ruin with the rest of my worries. Maybe I should let Jon go without ever knowing, maybe Arya doesn't need rescuing, and maybe Sansa is happy without the trouble of her lost sister…

Jumbling together in a tangle of regrets and frustrations, an ache pressed against my temples. My vision blurred for a moment, and focused again on a small droplet forming on the end of the quill. The black ink weighted heavily on the light feather, and the quill drooped under the pull. I frowned, my fingers trembling.

The drop of ink fell from the quill and stained the blank parchment. I found myself realizing the parchment was no longer blank at all. It was stained. It was stained with the worries and fears of a young and troubled Finley Stark. It was stained with the things I should have said, but never did. Never less, it was strained and as I drew the quill away and set it down on the wooden table, I decided that there was nothing I could do to remove the stain. There was nothing that could be done to mend what was already ruined.

With one more glance towards the shadows on the wall, I reached forward and suffocated the flame. The candle blinked out, the room fell into darkness and my eyes adjusted to the faint glow of an icy moon.

_Many moons past_

_ Dreadfort_

"Yes, my Lord" I droned, my tone was flat and dull. I stared out the window, gaze falling over the fields rolling out below us. Dreadfort was a dark and dank, the banks of the Weeping Water let loose to a current of black river. I blinked into the cloudy mid afternoon, the unavoidable dreariness settling into my bones. No matter how many nights I'd spent wandering the halls of this great fortress, it never seemed quite liveable.

Roose stood over the long wooden table, his back to me. He was patiently studying a large map of the North; his gaze was focused and cunning. He had a plotting look in his eye, the same look I had seen many times before. Those cold, moon eyes which never failed to put a room in silence, and that low, serious voice which made skin crawl. Roose Bolton was a very unlikeable man, though I found myself liking him very much.

"We will ride out tonight before dusk. The men of the Brave Companions will be awaiting our arrival at Harrenhal. You will accompany them on their hunt" Roose explained, never looking up from his work. His mouth barely moved as he spoke, but his words were clear and cold. I nodded, resentfully, setting my jaw. The conversation dropped there, but his words hung in the air between us.

The Brave Companions were brave, yes, but they were also cruel and merciless. They raped, they tortured, they murdered for fun. They were not a group I was excited to accompany. Even so, none were worse than the likes of Ramsey Snow, Roose's bastard son. He was the most despicable creature I had ever laid eyes on. Not only hideous to look at, but his actions spoke louder than every ugly feature on his face. His pig eyes and deformed nose were nothing compared to the way he tortured, the games he played with his enemies, the pain he has inflicted on the innocent. I hate Ramsey Snow, and I hope he rots in hell.

It scares me to know Ramsey is Roose Bolton's son; it scares me to know Ramsey's merciless ways were passed on by the man sitting behind me. It scares me to know the mild mannered, calculating man who I have pledge my allegiance is capable of such cruelty. I should be far more wary of Roose Bolton than I am; I suppose I overestimate his faithfulness. To me, Roose Bolton is the father figure I need, he plays the part perfectly, but I also know, if it comes down to it, he would flay me alive without hesitation.

I looked over my shoulder, at the pale, ageless man sitting at the table. I frowned, wondering what murderous plot he was stirring up behind those quiet eyes. "Yes, Lord Bolton" I said, finally, "I will make sure they do not fail you…" I whispered.

For a moment, I thought Bolton might ignore me and continue with his work. I saw a hesitation in the way his eyes moved along the map, it was as if I could see his thoughts breaking and shifting in just the way he tensed and twitched. He paused, not yet turning to face me. "And what, might I ask, would you do if they did betray me, Lady Aralyn?"

This question was not difficult, and I did not search for a lie to answer with. Without hesitation, I answered with complete honesty, "I would kill them, Lord Bolton." I said.

There was a pause, before he finalized the conversation with "I know you would, my lady" and for a moment, I thought I might have seen his lip curl into a cold smile. I didn't know whether that should put me at ease, or send a rattle through my bones.

An icy tingle sent the hairs on my arms to a stand.

Minutes later, I was still perched on the window sill, twisting a gold embellished dagger between my fingers. Roose grunted with a numb frustration, beginning to roll up his map and pack his things before we set out. I blinked idly, tucking my blade into the sheath on my belt before dragging myself to a stand. The unspoken words between Roose and I were loud enough, it was time to go, no more minutes to waste sitting around Dreadfort.

The wooden doors flew open.

The sound echoed through the large meeting room and my muscles tensed all over. My head whipped around to face the intruder, and my fingers curled around the golden handle of my weapon. An overreaction I am not proud of. Roose, on the other hand, took it far more carelessly, as he slowly raised his gaze full of dull interest.

It didn't take long to recognize the large, ugly creature standing in the door way. With his small, beady black eyes, greasy slivers of dark hair and a crooked set of teeth. Ramsey's dreadfully annoying laughter filled the quiet. I set my jaw. Roose couldn't have looked more bored. My grasp clung loosely to the dagger, and I found my shoulders drooping with disappointment. I frowned.

"Father," He managed through loud, obnoxious laughs, "You wouldn't believe what I have in this box!" Ramsey raised a small, wooden box proudly above his head. It wasn't a very impressive object, plain wood with an iron clasp, though Ramsey seemed to believe it was rather exciting. I turned to see Roose bite down a snarl; he arched a bored eyebrow to hide is annoyance.

"What is in the box, Ramsey?" Roose questioned, flatly.

Ramsey smiled a chaotic smile, "Guess!" He howled, but Roose was quick to shut him down with a cold glare. Roose Bolton had no time to play games. I leaned into the shadows, surveying the situation with narrowed eyes.

"Fine, yes, well, I suppose I'll just show you" With a quick few strides, Ramsey was standing before his father. He set the box on the table, and flipped open the lid without a moment's suspense.

There was silence.

Ramsey's toothy smile made my stomach churn, almost as much as the look of shock that washed over Roose's face. I saw disgust light up in Bolton's eyes and his lips press together to hold down the bile. As quick as his expression had changed, Roose hid his horror with a frozen glare. He looked away from the box.

I leaned forward, stretching my neck to see if I could catch a glimpse of what horrors lay inside the wooden casket. I gave up, retreating back into the shadows, my shoulders slumping over in defeat. Ramsey turned to his father with a hopeful look. Roose cleared his throat.

"What do you plan to do with that?" Lord Bolton asked, sternly.

Ramsey didn't hesitate, "Send it to his father, of course!" He laughed like a hyena, "Imagine Greyjoy's face when he finds out his heir has been castrated! A cock in a box! Such brilliance!"

My stomach rose into my throat, my eyes widened in horror and I found myself gagging aloud. Theon was Ramsey's most recent hostage, a little trinket the bastard boy had picked up when raiding Winterfell. I didn't let myself imagine what horrible things were being done to the Iron Island Heir until now, when I realized Ramsey had collected his manhood in a box. It was absolutely vile. Nausea burned from my stomach to the back of my throat, and I found myself biting back a gasp.

Ramsey turned to me, his smile suddenly disappearing.

My heart sunk.

The hideous boy did not take his eyes off of me while he pried the box from the table; he kept the lid flipped up as he closed the distance between us, taking three short strides and stopping dangerously close to me. He held the box out, his pig eyed gaze biting into my own. "What do you think?" He asked.

I refused to look down, I kept my gaze level with his, no matter how horrid the sight. Nothing was worse than what I would find lying in that damn box.

What did I think? I think it is the most disgusting thing I'd ever witnessed.

"Creative" I said, dryly. Roose shot me a sad look, almost an apologetic gesture.

Ramsey seemed pleased. His thin lips curled into an ugly grin and he turned to his father. "Creative, I am. You here that father, Aralyn thinks I'm creative. I wonder what she will think of me after we're wed, I'm sure I can be creative in bed as well!" He was lucky I was an expert had holding down my bile, because if not, he would be covered in my half digested breakfast.

"That is enough, Ramsey; she is not yours as of now." Bolton said sternly, "Now close that damn thing and get out. You have a prisoner to entertain and we have matters of actual importance to see" The lid of the wooden box flung shut with a snap, and I found myself taking a sharp intake of air. Ramsey stepped away, shooting his father a gruff look before scurrying towards the exit.

He was muttering quietly as the door swung shut behind him.

Roose turned to me, "He is lucky I am a patient man"

I shrugged, "There are times I wish you were not so patient"

The same coldness shivered through the fault lines of the room, and I found myself cowering under Roose's clever smile. He finished rolling up the map, curling his fingers around the burnt parchment and turning his back to me. "Be careful what you wish for, Aralyn Snow"

A shiver ran down my spine.


	2. chapter two - wary

_Chapter Two_

The ride to Harrenhal took several days, though I remember only the last. My weariness of the long travel was accompanied by heavy eyelids and a bad habit of arming myself against every rabbit which dove into the bushes, or any elk we may see sprinting across the horizon. I was very jumpy that last day, watching my own shadow with suspicion and questioning every passerby. I didn't think anyone had noticed until Roose came to a sudden stop a top one of the rolling hills just North of Harrenhal.

He looked towards me, "Is there something I should be aware of?" He questioned, in the same demeaning tone which was a constant. He arched a thin eyebrow, watching as I rode my tall black gelding up to stand beside his great silver mare. My gloved fingers curled tighter around the leather reins, and I found myself pulling my mount to a halt just behind where Roose was stopped.

I gave him an oblivious look.

He narrowed his eyes, "You are spooking at every branch that stirs in the wind, are you wary of something in particular?" He rephrased his question, sharply. I, personally, thought that was a bit of an overreaction, but I didn't point it out as he turned to look off in the direction of Harrenhal.

"There is nothing, Lord Bolton. I'm simply weary from the travel, it's better to stay on my toes than react to nothing at all" I explained, folding my hands over one another and gazing over to rolling fields towards the stack of cliffs in the distance. Just beyond those cliffs lay the ruins of Harrenhal, a once great fortress that has fallen into a state of misery and vanquish. It's a very sad place, with many ghosts and whispers haunting the corridors. I breathed in a good amount of cool air before exhaling slowly. My gaze flickered towards Bolton.

"You have a plan?" I asked, curiously.

For the time being, Harrenhal is occupied by Lannister soldiers' and I hadn't had the courage to ask Lord Bolton how he ever planned to overtake the fortress, when it was heavily guarded by the mighty Tywin Lannister. It was a little late to question his strategy, but I figured I better know the game plan before jumping into battle. Roose opened his mouth to explain without turning to face me.

"Tywin has marched more than half of his army northward, to meet Robb Stark in the Riverlands. He has left Harrenhal with weak defense, the battle will be very one sided. My arrangement with the Brave Companions will make the retaking of Harrenhal a rather quick brawl." Bolton explained, taking a short breath. He looked behind him, past me and out over the small troop he assembled for the journey. "We should be able to keep far more than half of these men alive, since we will bring up the back lines… now, Vargo Hoat should be along anytime to take ten of my soldiers and sneak them into the castle to attack from within. His loyalty will seal our fate"

And that's exactly what it did.

Later that afternoon, the fearsome Vargo Hoat rode up with a company of his fellows and handpicked ten of Bolton's soldiers. The plan was to have Vargo ride to Harrenhal and tell the guard he has taken those ten Bolton men as his prisoners. Once inside, Vargo, his troops and the ten Bolton soldiers would start the battle, open the gate for the rest of Roose's men and then retake Harrenhal with ease.

The plan rolled through flawlessly and by midnight of the same day, Bolton and I were standing in the great meeting room of Harrenhall, watching over the courtyard as hostages were locked in the dungeons and order was restored in the Bolton House name. My lips were pressed in a firm line, my hands clasped together on my lower back. I exhaled sharply through my nose.

Bolton sighed, catching the tension I was purposefully seeping "What is the matter, Aralyn?" He drawled. He didn't actually care; I could sense the boredom and tire in his voice. Never less, I took the opportunity to turn towards him and plead my case. Well, not _my_ case exactly…

After a moment of pondering my words, "What do you plan on doing with them?" I spit out, a flood of relief pouring out along the words. I never knew quite how to talk to Bolton, suggesting my own ideas seemed like a suicide mission. I stared into his half moon eyes with a serious, hopeful look. Roose set his jaw.

"You know well what I plan to do with them…" He began.

"Yes, but-" I attempted to cut him off, with no success.

"You have killed dozens of men on my behalf. You are an able assassin. Why now would you worry about the lives of our enemies? What do they mean to you?" He continued, ignoring any of my attempts to counteract him. I bit my lip, my back to the window overlooking the courtyard.

"They're Lannister men…" I started.

"Even better reason to see them hanged!" He snapped, quickly.

"They're innocent!" I howled back.

Roose would hear no more. His eyes narrowed and his chest rose up with superiority. His gaze drove into my own with an icy bite I could not match. I took a defeated sigh, and waiting for him to unleash his wrath. He didn't.

Instead, he said calmly, "We are at war, young Aralyn. I have no time to fret about the lives of worthless soldiers. They are loyal to our enemies, and the less Tywin has in his ranks, the better. You understand this, I know it. I have seen you kill with a mercilessness I wish you would carry all of the time. I am starting to see these moments of compassion far too often, I worry you are growing soft"

I didn't think twice, "No" I snapped. "I am just tired, Lord Bolton. Excuse my outburst"

This was Roose Bolton's way of marking his superiority. He talks you down, with his words, with his eyes, with the way he stands over you. He has the air of a king, but a king he is not. Lord Bolton has never truly scared me, but the loyalty I have to him is terrifying at times. I swallowed, stepping back to look sheepishly out the window.

The door at the front of the room opened. I looked up half expecting to see Ramsey standing in the entrance, holding his horrible box and smiling with those rows of rotting teeth. Of course, it wasn't Ramsey who stood proudly in the frame; it was an equally unnerving sight.

Vargo Hoat leaned against his long sword, both eyebrows raised and mouth half open like the halfwit he was. I gritted my teeth, my expression remaining neutral. "Good eve' my lord, my lady… it's rather late" Vargo began.

Bolton silently pulled out one of the wooden chairs, sitting down and gesturing to the other end of the table, "Come and sit, sir. You have done well" Roose offered a mild compliment. Though I had no respect for Vargo Hoat, the man had played his roll to perfection. He was the main reason the ealier events had turned in our favour. If it wasn't for Hoat, Harrenhal would still be Tywin's fortress.

Hoat smiled with pleasure and made his way across the room. His dirty boots clanked against the wooden floor and he made no attempt at politeness when he yanked the chair out away from the table and took a seat. I gathered myself before stepping away from the window, and taking a stand just behind Bolton's chair.

"Yes," I agreed, resentfully, "you served well, Hoat…"

"Tell me about it!" Gloated the humble man, "You should have seen their faces; the Lannister soldiers didn't know what hit them!" He cackled, "Our men will drink tonight, Bolton, there is much to celebrate!"

As expected, Bolton wasn't nearly as amused as Vargo seemed to be. Though, he wasn't as putout as I was. Instead, the mild-mannered Roose Bolton nodded in response and cleared his throat to speak, "What of the Riverland battle, Sir Hoat? What of Robb?"

I, too, was curious as to who came out victorious in the most recent battle. I preyed for good news on my brother. Vargo shrugged, "Robb didn't see a fight, unfortunately, and Tywin didn't reach Riverrun at all… The Tully boy, Edmure, I believe, rode out with a fleet of Robb's banner men and met Tywin before the Twins! For every Stark lost, two Lannister's were killed… Tywin retreated; he planned on returning to Harrenhal…"

"King's Landing," I interrupted, drawing both Roose and Hoat's gaze. I paused, taking a breath before continuing "Renly Baratheon was slaughtered by his brother. Stannis sails towards Kings Landing with twice the men he had before, and a strong fleet of battleships… Tywin should be heading for Kings Landing to aid in the defense of the castle" I explained carefully, watching only Bolton for a reaction.

Bolton seemed impressed, just as I hoped, "Two stories, both worth good news for the Starks… If the Lannister's and Baratheon's go into battle, it will leave both armies devastated no matter who wins. Robb will have to act fast if he wants to take advantage."

Vargo and I nodded simultaneously.

"We must move forward" Roose continued. "Hoat, I will give you and your men a day's rest for your great aid in the retaking of Harrenhal. When dawn breaks on the second day, you will ride out to forage. Of course, if you happen to come across any more Lannister forces, be sure to root them out. Finley will ride with you…"

Vargo made sure to shoot me a cunning smile, his eyes dancing with foolish excitement. I resisted the urge to gag out loud. Roose was still explaining the strategy for the next few weeks, but I was busy sharing a silent conversation with Vargo. We glared each other down, the words unspoken screamed louder than the pointless drawl falling from Bolton's lips.

I only looked away from Vargo, the ugly, sharp looking man, when he pushed himself to a stand and started moving towards the window. "Come this way, Lord Bolton, look out the window. It seems our men have decided it is time for their special entertainment."

Both Roose and I looked over our shoulders, and watched suspiciously as Vargo gestured for us to come along. I turned, moving reluctantly towards the opening in the stone to gaze out over the courtyard. My stomach dropped.

There, I saw Ser Armory Loch, being thrown into the bear pit.

I closed my eyes.


End file.
